


Rumours

by Ololon



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ololon/pseuds/Ololon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, rumours are true</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seeing

**Author's Note:**

> I remember vaguely that there is some speculation (possibly even in canon itself) that Lord Vetinari might be a vampire. Whilst I don't subscribe to this, I thought it would be fun to explore the idea. A series of short pieces that got longer are the result. All reviews very greatly appreciated.

Drumknott is aware of the rumours, of course. He had never really paid them that much attention – of all the rumours concerning the Patrician, they were not as amusing as some (invariably because they were so preposterous) and they weren't that interesting either – certainly nothing that would affect him. Nevertheless, this particular rumour, which had seemed almost as improbable as the rest, has lately made him wonder. He spends more time with the Patrician than anyone alive. It is inevitable that he would see more than most. More than anything, now, he wonders if what he sees, the things he noticed before, are new, or old but previously unobserved, or even – and this is the most intriguing, the most frightening possibility – if they are simply things that Vetinari has started allowing him to see.

The Vetinari shield is black on black; the Patrician’s robes are black. Certainly if he were, say, to wear a black ribbon, you’d have to look carefully for it. Or take it on trust.


	2. Appearances

When he had first started working for the Patrician, 12 years ago, Lord Vetinari had appeared to be a man in his mid-40s; just a touch of grey at the temples, a trace of lines around the eyes and forehead. He looked exactly the same now. Of course, some people tended to do that, or to spend an inordinate amount of time trapped at the appearance of one particular age, and rush through the others. Then too, when you were with someone every day, you never really noticed these things, whereas the relative you only saw once a  year, well, you saw all the changes at once. He told himself it was a reasonable explanation like this. Probably Vetinari would always look exactly the same, possibly he would age; possibly he would _seem_ to age. Doubtless the most telling thing was that it made Drumknott entertain the hope that he would not, in fact, outlive his master.


	3. Light and Shade

On sunny days the Patrician often went out into the gardens to work, which was what was so confusing. He’d spent most of the afternoon out there (conspicuously failing to tan) but now he was back in the Oblong Office, pacing very slowly back and forth, chin propped on one fist, elbow cupped in the other hand, lost in thought. Perhaps it was acclimatisation, perhaps it was just for appearances, or, most likely, perhaps it was all in Drumknott’s imagination. But then again…

He glanced up from his own work now and then, to watch the Patrician walking from one side of the office to the other, in front of the great window, as the last rays of the setting sun slanted through in golden bars, stepping from light to shade, light to shade; the brief steps into light lending the illusion of warmth to those pale, steel-blue eyes. Drumknott knew from past experience that Vetinari may well do this for hours. But he had never before observed that shift in cadence; was it an absent-minded relaxation of the guard, or a deliberate one? He suspected that he’d never know for sure, nevertheless, it was telling, the way those steps lengthened, just slightly, and Vetinari, apparently lost in thought, moved from shadow to shadow, and did not linger on the light in-between.


	4. Observation

Drumknott wonders if there’s some sort of unspoken code: don’t ‘out’ one of your fellow vampires if they prefer to remain discreet. Not that he’d ever expect Lady Margolotta to let on, well, not unless it proved useful to her anyway. The undead Watch officers certainly wouldn’t – they were only there because Vetinari had leaned on Commander Vimes in the first place. But if there was anyone who might be likely to inadvertently blurt it out, it had to be the slightly dishevelled, slightly comic figure fussing with his equipment in front of them.

“Ok, vunderful, if you could just hold up ze copy of ze treaty like so…and _smile_ …you know, ze saying of ze cheese? Vell, perhaps not…” There was a bright flash and a loud bang. Drumknott nearly jumped out of his skin. Vetinari still stood calmly holding the new treaty, blinking a little. The photographer had vanished, except for a small pile of ash upon the floor, with a little vial and neatly stencilled note upon it.

“Oh dear,” Vetinari said mildly.

“I’ll get it,” Drumknott said quickly, reaching for the small bottle and pouring it on top of the dust. Otto rematerialised, and sneezed.

“Bless me – oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” he gushed, immediately. “And in ze Oblonk Office too, I will be never livink this down.”

“Quite all right, Mr von Chriek,” the Patrician cut in smoothly, to no avail.

“..Ze filter must have come loose, it is a good job the light was only comink out in vun direction otherwise…um, ah yes, here we are, so terribly embarrassing, gentlemen…Right. Vun more perhaps, with the two of you?”

“No,” Vetinari and Drumknott said, simultaneously.


	5. Obsession

Dragon King of Arms had obsessed over heraldry, lineages. Otto von Chriek had his photography – and Lady Margolotta had politics. They said you needed something to fixate on to break the hold of blood. It could be anything; other addictive substances, like coffee or cigarettes, hobbies taken to extremes, things that occupied, that diverted the mind. But then so many humans did that too; just look at the Pinheads and stamp collectors. Drumknott was well aware that that he himself was possessed of a turn of mind that had a need for order, for collecting, collating, that could become obsessed over things – or people, and the dark, dangerous games you could play with them, if you dared…

He wondered if it had been Margolotta that had introduced Vetinari to politics, or the other way around. That relationship had always seemed both more complicated and entangled than it appeared. If it were true, the world at large doubtless had reason to be grateful for Vetinari’s obsession with politics, with the city…and yet, in some ways, it seemed so _idealistic:_ the calling of a young man now morphed into the patient construction of the vampire. Could the map of the city’s future be planned like Dragon planned his genealogies? No, surely it was too complex, too unpredictable, even for that. And perhaps that was just as well, for then it might cease to be so…diverting. 


	6. The little things

His mother had always said it was the little things that counted. She was talking about relationships, of course, most particularly of the long intimacy of husband and wife, which Drumknott sometimes could not help but find wryly amusing. It was true, though, that, often as not, it was the little things he noticed. They seemed to count more than the big things. Those little things that had always made the Partician seem less than human; the air not so much of composure but of total detachment from every human emotion, no matter what the situation or who was having histrionics in front of him; the lack of close relationships with other people; the total immersion in his work. Then there were those little things that had always made Vetinari seem something _more_ than human; his imperviousness to the freezing cold that always pervaded the Oblong Office in the depths of winter; how he got by on what seemed to be the merest suggestion of sleep; his disdain for regular meals. Not to mention the preternatural speed at which he could move when the occasion arose.

One particularly bitter winter’s morning, Drumknott pointedly didn't take his coat off when he came into work. Vetinari raised an eyebrow, but had the fire lit nonetheless, and by the afternoon, it was positively cozy. His mother was right: it was the little things that counted, after all. 


	7. Leap of faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next four chapters break the pattern in a little, in that they are not standalone snippets about Drumknott's observations, but follow on from each other, but I just let the writing take me where it wanted to. Next three should be up fairly soon; just need a bit of tidying up.

He'd been in two minds about coming on this trip in the first place. On the one hand, it was a chance to visit Uberwald, and a notable occasion, since Lord Vetinari hardly ever left the city himself, but on the other hand it was well, _Uberwald,_ and currently an Uberwald doing its best on the dark and stormy night front, as the autumn gales – or possibly just the werewolves – howled outside, competing with the driving rain and the rattling of the coach as it careened along the rough mountain road. Conversation had long since lapsed, and he was bone-rattlingly uncomfortable. The Patrician, as usual, looked supremely unbothered by it, and was reading some obscure looking tome in ancient Quirmian to pass the time.

Lightning crashed, the horses screamed in panic, the coach lurched forward, wheels spinning, and then things got very, very confused.

Drumknott woke feeling even more uncomfortable than before, and for a moment could  not even place where he was, or when, or what had happened. Whatever it was, he slowly realised, as a rather severe headache began to make itself known, had resulted in the coach landing canted at an angle on the road. It was swaying gently in the wind. All was quiet and dark around him, apart from the lashing of the storm outside, and the coach was otherwise empty.

“Sir?” he called out, “Lord Vetinari?” There was no reply. He started to move forward – and the coach started to move sideways alarmingly. A bad feeling stole over him. If he tried to move towards the door furthest away from the edge of the road, the coach started tipping towards the other side – the side with the large drop over the edge of the mountain.

“Sir?” he tried again. The horses and driver appeared gone too. Gods, maybe Vetinari had gone over the cliff, he thought, in sudden panic – but no, the door on that side was shut. So how had he got out?

He stayed there for what was probably a stupidly long time before finally coming to the conclusion he'd known all along: He couldn't get out without tipping the whole thing, himself included, over the edge. Lord Vetinari had got out because of things that were rumours nobody really believed, things he'd been allowed to see were true. Things that he’d indulged himself in believing were a sign of trust, but equally, perhaps, just in case he should ever need to know. So he could wait here for rescue or – the coach moved ominously in a gust of wind – or he could take a leap of faith. He edged towards the other door, opened it out onto nothing, took a deep breath, and leapt out into empty air.

He was caught almost instantly: Lord Vetinari may have been a tyrant, but he was not a cruel man, and really, it wasn’t necessary to wait until Rufus had nearly hit the bottom in order to prove anything.

 


	8. Out in the Open

There hadn’t exactly been time to say anything after Lord Vetinari had carefully placed him back on the ground, which was just as well, because he had somehow managed to be acutely aware of how everything he was thinking of saying would be rather redundant, whilst simultaneously nearly passing out at the same time. He had sunk to the cold, wet ground, leaning back on the mercifully solid rock of the cliff face as Lord Vetinari picked up one of the coach lamps, clearly lit and ready for the purpose, and waved it above his head, shining it further down the road.

Drumknott closed his eyes, trying to stop the swimming in his head, when he felt a warm cloak draped over him, and when he opened his eyes again Lord Vetinari was suddenly _there,_ right in front of him: the rest of his dark clothes clung to his slender form, but he seemed as unmoved by the rain as he was the cold. The pale eyes were as keen and without warmth as ever; his close-cropped hair plastered to his skull in the rain, sharpening the lines of his face. Sharp, yes, like the tips of the teeth still just showing. He wondered what it cost, to _transform_ like that, if you had long since foresworn blood. A brief grimace, and a long-fingered, chill hand dabbed a careful handkerchief against his temple; it came away bloody, pinkening swiftly in the rain. Blood, yes. He wondered what self-control it took, even as, he realised, he didn’t in any way _doubt_ it.

“I sent the driver for assistance,” Lord Vetinari said at last, “I just saw them coming up the other side of the mountain; they should be here in a few moments.”

A cautious nod was all he could manage, then finally, on a breath, “Are you all right, sir?” Unexpectedly, Lord Vetinari laughed. 


	9. Bed and Breakfast

The next time Drumknott woke up he was both far more comfortable and far more uncomfortable. He was nicely tucked up in a warm bed, pleasantly sleepy and not in a bit of pain, with that feeling that suggested breakfast would be a good idea in the near future, but not the too near future, because a few more minutes lie-in wouldn’t hurt, surely. On the other, uncomfortable hand, there were two vampires in the room apparently arguing over him, in the exquisitely polite, extremely careful and terrifyingly frank way that only very deadly, very _well-bred_ people can manage.

“He really looks quite adorable there, Havelock. I know I said before I found him dull, but I think I have changed my mind.”

“Too bad, I saw him first.”

Pretending to be asleep seemed to be – possibly – the safest option.

“And you say he just jumped out of the the carriage? How very brave! But all that _blood,_ ugh, Igor said it was _everyvhere._ One wouldn’t have known _vhere_ to look.”

“Margo, he’s my _secretary_. And it was really only a very small cut, although head wounds of course…”

“If you say so.” There was a small pause. Drumknott kept his eyes tightly shut.

“He’s really very sweet. Look at the vay his hair curls, just a little bit. Are you _sure_ I can’t keep him?”

“No.”

“Hmm, pity, well, I’ll leave him in peace then. He should be awake soon, and probably hungry. I’ll get the kitchen to send something up. Are you coming?”

“I think I’ll wait here, if it’s all the same to you.”

Drumknott still didn’t open his eyes, even after he was quite sure Margolotta had left, at least not until Lord Vetinari said,

“We can _tell_ when someone is pretending to be asleep, you know, Mr Drumknott.”

“Yes, but I thought you were probably too polite to call me on it,” he replied, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Vetinari smiled, faintly. “Erm, is there a… _problem_ , with my being here?” Drumknott added, ears burning slightly. Vetinari seemed to consider that for a moment.

“Not as such, but Margolotta does so like her games. Don’t let her push you around.” Rufus managed a wan smile: not exactly your _usual_ bed and breakfast then.


	10. Dangerous Games

Later that evening, when it was long past time for tired humans to go to bed again, and after enduring three hours of Vetinari and Margolotta trading barbed insults and political trickery over dinner, Drumknott spent approximately fifteen minutes listening to the squeaky noises of the trees against the windowpane outside, and the howls, and the random creaks, and a very suspicious scratching noise on the brickwork…then gave up and fled down the corridor to knock on Lord Vetinari’s room.

“I’m inviting myself to stay in your bed,” he said, with as much boldness as he could muster, when the door opened to reveal the Patrician barefoot and in shirtsleeves. An eyebrow raised.

“Oh?”

“It’s to avoid having to dissuade a vampire from getting into my bedroom,” he explained, and watched a slow smile threaten to break out across Vetinari’s face, “I’m told some of them get a bit of a thrill out of that sort of thing.” Vetinari grinned; outright grinned, hiding it behind his hand, as he always did when his humour got the better of him, Drumknott belatedly realised.

“Oh well in that case, be my guest,” and waved him in. Vetinari shut the door and he climbed into bed. Vetinari, who had evidently abandoned all pretence of sleep, for now at least, sat down comfortably in a chair and blew out the candle. Rufus settled in, immediately feeling considerably less nervous, and wondered what to say next.

“She is right though,” Vetinari spoke into the night, sounding rather closer than Rufus thought he was, “You really _are_ rather adorable.” His heart gave a very hard thump, as a pair of cool, strong hands wrapped themselves sensuously around his wrists, holding them _just so,_ immobile. So he knew then. Of course he knew.

“And _you,_ ” he breathed, turning into that voice, “Are irresistable.”

“You know, when I had you… _investigated_ …prior to taking up your position with me,” Vetinari murmured, this time right next to his ear, “It turned up a hint that you were into, shall we say…a certain species of dangerous game, but I dismissed it as leftover schoolboy gossip; mere rumour.” There followed just the slightest nip at his earlobe. Rufus shivered.

“Sometimes,” he said, “Sometimes, rumours are true.” 


End file.
